


the silence in between what I thought and what I said

by grasslandgirl



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Pining, Declarations Of Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Universe Alteration, VERY jon-centric its like 90 percent just jon talking to himself about martin lmao, Voicemails, basically: what if jon was a little more emotionally aware and remembered he had a phone during s4, copious references to Schrodinger, takes place over the course of all of season 4 and ends post-159, voicemail au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21567205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grasslandgirl/pseuds/grasslandgirl
Summary: “I suppose… I suppose it’s just nice. To talk. Without having to be careful of the questions I ask, or having to wonder whether the person I’m talking to trusts anything I’m saying. You always seemed to trust me, Martin. Even when I didn’t deserve it… even when I didn’t trust you, or anyone else. I miss that.” Jon laughed to himself a little, “And no one makes tea like you do.”Jon shook his head. This had gone on long enough already- if he wasn’t careful, he was going to start saying things- things that he shouldn’t be telling Martin. Not now. Not over the phone, into a voicemail he might not even get. “Right. Anyway. Be seeing you- or,” Jon laughed mirthlessly, “I suppose I won’t.”---aka. 6 times Jon left Martin a voicemail, and one time he didn't
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 98
Kudos: 409





	1. in your place there were a thousand other faces

**Author's Note:**

> hello all!! this fic is pretty damn close to canon and I'll be putting what episodes each chapter corresponds to in the notes before each chapter, as well as any minor deviations from canon that occur!  
> this chapter takes place as a kind of substitution for the Martin/Jon interaction from 124: Left Hanging, and takes place at around the same time in the timeline.  
> the chapter of this fic, as well as all the individual chapter titles come from Florence and the Machine's song, No Light No Light; which is SO jm i could scream!  
> that being said, please enjoy!

“Hello, Martin,” Jon began, then winced. “Uh, well, more precisely, hello Martin’s  _ voicemail.” _ He sighed and drummed his fingers against his desk. This had worked better in his head. “That is, erm. I needed- well, I wanted…” Jon ran a hand through his hair, trying to think of the right way to say it, without sounding creepy. “I thought talking through my theories aloud would be beneficial for me, and given that you are… otherwise occupied at the moment, I thought that this could be an alternate solution.” Jon leaned his head back against the headrest of his chair. He closed his eyes and imagined Martin, sitting just on the other side of the desk, instead of hiding away in Elias’s old office on the other side of the Institute. “I know you said we couldn’t… that  _ you _ couldn’t… hm. I suppose this is rather selfish of me, isn‘t it? To clog up your voicemail box with my pointless ramblings when you’re very busy… isolating yourself. Or whatever Peter Lukas has you doing.”

Jon winced again. “I’m sorry, Martin, that came out wrong. I don’t begrudge you your separation, especially not after everything. God knows I’ve isolated myself plenty these last few years- from you included.” He paused, “From you especially, perhaps.” Jon didn’t really remember the last time he’d had a  _ real _ conversation with Martin. It felt like years. 

Honestly, it might actually have  _ been  _ years since they’d spoken about anything other than work and fear and some imminent doom. 

“I just… I suppose I like the idea of talking to  _ someone.  _ As opposed to talking into these damned recorders every waking hour. It’s kind of- well, refreshing. The thought that I’m talking to a real human person, not some all-knowing fear god. And it’s not like I can talk to any of the others- Daisy and Tim are gone, Basira doesn’t really listen to anything I say, and I honestly think that if I tried to hold a conversation with Melanie, she’d try to kill me. And  _ you’re  _ spending all your time alone or with Peter.” Jon laughed a little to himself, “Is there a difference?” He sighed, shaking his head even though Martin couldn’t see him. “I don’t even know if you’ll get these messages. Or if you’ll listen to them if you do receive them. I wouldn’t blame you either way, it’s not like I have a… good track record for positive conversation topics.

“I’m sorry, Martin. I just wanted to say that, at least once, even if you might never hear it. That’s kind of the point of me leaving these in your voicemail instead of trying to talk to you in person, isn’t it? Like Schrodinger's cat; I’ll never really know one way or the other whether you hear them, so I don’t have to face the consequences either way. I know it’s more than a little cowardly and selfish of me, Martin.” Jon paused, “I’ve done plenty of cowardly and selfish things, though, haven’t I?” 

_ At least I’m only hurting myself with this one, _ Jon thought. 

“I suppose… I suppose it’s just nice. To talk. Without having to be careful of the questions I ask, or having to wonder whether the person I’m talking to trusts anything I’m saying. You always seemed to trust me, Martin. Even when I didn’t deserve it… even when I didn’t trust you, or anyone else. I miss that.” Jon laughed to himself a little, “And no one makes tea like you do.”  _ I miss you, _ Jon thought, realizing slowly that it was true. He hadn’t realized how much he relied on- or even noticed- Martin’s presence around the Archives until it was gone. 

_ I miss you, _ he wanted to say, on even the off chance that Martin might hear it. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing with Peter,” he said instead. “I worry. But I- I trust that you’re doing what you think is best. I just… I wish you’d come back to- to us. We need you more than you know.”

Jon shook his head. This had gone on long enough already- if he wasn’t careful, he was going to start saying things- things that he shouldn’t be telling Martin. Not now. Not over the phone, into a voicemail he might not even get. “Right. Anyway. Be seeing you- or,” Jon laughed mirthlessly, “I suppose I won’t.”

He pursed his lips, eyes already catching on the stacks of statements on his desk, the tape recorder he was sure hadn’t been there a few minutes before. “Goodbye, Martin.”

Jon hung up the phone.


	2. you want a revelation, you want to get it right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But you need anchors, Martin. We both do. People to hold us accountable, to stabilize us, remind us of our humanity.”  
> He sighed, “Or maybe it’s just me who needs reminding.” Absently, Jon reached up and pressed his free hand to his shoulder, to where Melanie had stabbed him, only a few days prior. It was already scarred up, the wound completely gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter covers the events of episodes 125-127!

“Hello Martin,” Jon said after the tone. “You know, I don’t really remember how I got your number. So many things about those early years in the Archives- before Prentiss and Sasha and Elias- I don’t know how much of what I remember about it are my own memories, and how much are just things I  _ know. _ How much is just the Beholding filling in the gaps.

“It could be just that you put your number in my phone when I first started working here, and I just don’t remember it happening, or I got it from Tim or- or Sasha, or maybe I just…  _ knew  _ it. Put it in my phone and dialed without even questioning the knowledge.” Jon paused, thinking about everything that had happened with Melanie, how his powers were becoming more and more pervasive into every aspect of his life, in ways he couldn’t control or understand. “That’s happening more and more often, now. It’s hard to even… question it, it feels so normal. That’s one of the hardest parts, I think. That it isn’t difficult, it doesn’t feel unnatural.

“I was recording a statement, and suddenly I was spouting information about Melanie and her gunshot wound that I shouldn’t have known. But I did. Just like I knew where to inject the local anesthetic, and where to cut in her leg-” Jon broke off abruptly. Images of Melanie thrashing awake, screaming about her leg and reaching for the closest thing to stab him, flashed in his mind, so quick and visceral that he couldn’t tell whether they were his memories or pieces of Melanie’s. “She’s alright. At least, I think so. She will be, even if she refuses to see me. Honestly, I can’t say I blame her.

“At this rate, it won’t be long until there isn’t anyone who can stand to be around me anymore,” Jon laughed a little, even though it wasn’t funny. “Maybe it’s for the best… people around me always seem to end up fodder for some fear god, fodder for  _ my  _ fear god, or dead. Or some combination thereof. Is that why you’ve joined up with Lukas, Martin? You think it’ll be better for everyone else in the long run? I… I kind of understand that.” And Jon did. He understood the temptation to just pull away, to tell yourself that it was for the best, that you were doing it for the benefit of those around you, but Georgie had been right. “But you need anchors, Martin. We both do. People to hold us accountable, to stabilize us, remind us of our humanity.” 

He sighed, “Or maybe it’s just me who needs reminding.” Absently, Jon reached up and pressed his free hand to his shoulder, to where Melanie had stabbed him, only a few days prior. It was already scarred up, the wound completely gone. 

“I… Basira told me about your mum, Martin.” Jon pursed his lips, trying to find the right words. He’d lost his parents young- too young to remember them, and too young to really grieve them- and though he’d lost his grandmother a few years back, Jon knew it wasn’t the same. He knew Martin’d had a…  _ difficult _ relationship with his mother, having spent many years taking care of her as her health continually declined, but he was sure it was devastating nonetheless. “I’m sorry.” What else was there to say? “I… I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like, losing her alongside everything- dealing with Elias, and with Tim and Daisy, and-”  _ Me. I was gone, too,  _ Jon finished in his head. 

“I wish there was something I could do. About any of it.” Jon scrubbed his hand down his face, rubbing at his temples to try and disperse some of the tension building behind his eyes. It felt like he was always on the edge of a headache, these days. “I’m here now, Martin. I know… I understand it was difficult while I was- was in the hospital, but I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere,” Jon promised, and he tried his best to believe it, if only for Martin’s sake. 

“I wish you’d come back to us. I know what you’re doing with Lukas is important it, it has to be, but… we need you. Martin,  _ I  _ need you.”  _ But I’m too much of a coward to say it anywhere but into a voicemail you probably won’t listen to, _ Jon thought. “That is, um. You know where to find me- all of us. I don’t want to believe that isolation is the solution anymore. I’m losing too much of what makes me human to pull away like that, not now. Not anymore.”

Jon sighed and dropped his head into his hand, the other still pressing his phone to his ear. He wished Martin was here, really here. He wished he could shake him into seeing sense, seeing how much they all relied on him, how they were falling apart without his quiet strength and perseverance and faith in them. He wished he could make Martin understand how sorry he was for being gone so long, and for being so awful to him before that.  _ Well, _ Jon thought with an ironic little laugh,  _ you know what they say about hindsight. _

“We have to trust each other, I suppose. That’s all that’s left.  _ I trust you, _ Martin. You know what you’re doing I just… I don’t trust Peter Lukas, I don’t trust how he’s pulling you away from us down here. Be careful.

“Statement ends, I suppose,” Jon said before hanging up the phone, leaving him alone in his silent office. Jon just wished that Martin joining the Lonely didn’t leave him feeling so alone, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! comments, kudos, and constructive criticisms are always welcome!  
> my tumblr is [@grasslandgirl](https://grasslandgirl.tumblr.com/) if you want to yell about jonmartin, or the s4 finale, or send in prompts, and the next chapter should be up soon!! thanks for reading-


	3. you can't choose what stays and what fades away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sometimes I don’t know who I am anymore. Whether I’m still Jon, or whether I’m more Archivist, more Beholding, than I am the person I was before. Or whether I’ve always been this, been a part of the Eye. I guess that fear’s kind of the point, isn’t it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter takes place after episode 131, right before Jon goes into the coffin to save Daisy!!  
> also!! a big big thanks to my friend @meverri for beta'ing this and being endlessly supportive! this chapter is kind of a short one, but the next couple are when we're going to get into the good stuff, so hold onto your hats!!

“Martin, I-” Jon started as soon as the voicemail beeped, “I don’t know how much you know- how much Peter told you- but I think- I think I’ve found a way to save Daisy. She’s inside the coffin, from that statement by Joshua Gillespie? It connects into the Buried, and those two delivery men, Breekon and Hope, were connected to it? Daisy’s inside of it. It must’ve happened during the Unknowing, but she’s  _ still alive in there. _ According to Breekon, at least, but I  _ know  _ he wasn’t lying.” Jon laughed a little, but sobered quickly, remembering the building static in his head, Breekon’s eyes widening and bulging before- 

“I  _ pulled  _ a statement from him,” he admitted abruptly, just to get the image out of his head. “Like I… extracted it from inside him, and now there’s nothing left.” Jon sighed. “According to his statement, though, there wasn’t much left to him without his compatriot to begin with. I don’t really know how to feel about it, now. At the time it was just- an urge. A  _ need  _ to  _ know- _ what? His life story? His relationship to the coffin? To Nikola? It was awful, Martin. Terrifying. But it was also… strangely lovely. Empowering, having all that raw knowledge at my fingertips, knowing I could do anything with it, I-” Jon’s hand clenched around his phone. He inhaled unsteadily and exhaled in another heavy sigh. 

“Sometimes I don’t know who I am anymore. Whether I’m still Jon, or whether I’m more Archivist, more Beholding, than I am the person I was before. Or whether I’ve always been this, been a part of the Eye. I guess that fear’s kind of the point, isn’t it?

“You know, Basira doesn’t trust me; she doesn’t trust anyone. She told me what happened after the Unknowing, how she survived the ritual… I had no idea. She’s out following some lead right now, and she- she made me promise to wait for her to get back. So did Melanie. I think they don’t trust me not to do something rash… something that will get us killed, me and Daisy both.” Jon scoffed, and his gaze dropped down to his rib, sitting on his desk. “Maybe they’re right.” He placed his hand on top of the smooth white bone, and shook his head, even though there was no one there to see it.

“I’m going to do it anyway. I have an… anchor, of sorts, and a recording of Daisy that I’m going to use to find her and get us both out. I have to do this, Martin; I can’t risk losing anyone else. I left a tape for Melanie and Basira, in case… well.” Jon cleared his throat as his gaze dragged over to the coffin in the corner. “But I wanted- I needed to… damn. I wanted to say goodbye, to you specifically, just in case. So Melanie and Basira wouldn’t have to track you down to tell you…”  _ that I died, again, _ Jon thought. 

Jon felt a burning behind his eyes, and he blinked rapidly. He told himself it was just another headache, even though he knew it wasn’t. “I’m going to get her out,” he repeated, “and I’m not going to say goodbye to you, Martin, I don’t need to.” 

Jon hung up the phone and placed it next to the rib and the tape recorder on his desk. He turned to look at the coffin, and for a split second he wished that someone was there beside him. Not to follow him into the Buried, not to convince him not to go, just to wait for him. Jon shook his head and took a step towards the coffin. It was now or never.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! comments, kudos, and constructive criticisms are always welcome!  
> my tumblr is [@grasslandgirl](https://grasslandgirl.tumblr.com/) if you want to yell about jonmartin, or the s4 finale, or send in prompts, and the next chapter should be up soon!! thanks for reading-


	4. tell me what you want me to say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I got Daisy back,” Jon said, and felt the same wash of pride and thinly repressed claustrophobia he always got when he remembered his days in the Buried. “Took me three days, but I… I suppose you already knew that, didn’t you? Seen her around the Institute… yeah. I- when I was in the coffin…” Jon bit the inside of his cheek to steel himself, and spit out the rest of the sentence as quickly as possible. “Did you leave the recorders outside of the coffin while I was in there?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter covers the events of episodes 132 through 140, and takes place right before Jon and Basira leave for Ny-Alesund!  
> again, a special thanks to @meverri on here, who edited the shit out of this for me and has put up with my random jm aus and theories in the middle of the night!

“A lot has happened, Martin.” Jon began, and just like that, he breathed a little easier. It wasn’t like how he took a statement, all-encompassing and omnipotent. It was… comforting. Familiar, even though he wasn’t sure whether Martin ever actually listened to his messages. Honestly, Jon wasn’t sure he always  _ wanted  _ Martin to listen to them. But he called anyway, he made the voicemails anyway, and he tried not to question why. 

“I got Daisy back,” Jon said, and felt the same wash of pride and thinly repressed claustrophobia he always got when he remembered his days in the Buried. “Took me three days, but I… I suppose you already knew that, didn’t you? Seen her around the Institute… yeah. I- when I was in the coffin…” Jon bit the inside of his cheek to steel himself, and spit out the rest of the sentence as quickly as possible. “Did you leave the recorders outside of the coffin while I was in there?” 

He paused, almost expecting an answer from the empty voicemail box, or expecting Martin to peek his head in through the doorway to Jon’s office, ready to answer all his questions. Of course, neither of those things happened. “I just- none of them were recording, and they… I don’t know,  _ felt different? _ From the ones that manifest when I read a statement?” Jon sighed. “It just- it sometimes it feels like everything here is falling apart.” Jon pushed a hand through his hair- which was tangled and dirty and already far longer than he’d realized. He had always been bad about letting his hygiene slip by the wayside when he got too into his work, but before, Martin had always been there- to make him eat lunch, to pause for a cup of tea, to hint that he needed a shower. At the time- it felt like years ago, at this point- Jon felt his constant hovering and worrying to be bothersome at best, and suspicious at worst. 

Now, Jon just missed it. Missed having someone worry over him with no ulterior motives. And, weird as it may be, Jon missed having someone to worry  _ over. _

It wasn’t the same, with Martin pulling further and further away, disappearing into the Lonely after Peter Lukas. Jon still worried- always worried, if he was being honest- but he had no way to check in on him, no way to see whether his concerns were grounded or not. 

“I-” Jon started, and a dozen things died on his tongue.  _ I worry about you. I’m going to Ny-Alesund with Basira. I don’t know if Melanie’s getting better. I think Daisy’s different now, and I don’t know whether that’s a good thing. I’m worried about you.  _

_ I miss you. _

Jon didn’t say any of them. 

“There’s so many things I want to tell you,” he mused, “but I don’t even know if you listen to these messages. If you even care what I’m saying. Has the Lonely got you that close into its grasp, Martin? I… what-  _ christ.” _ Jon spat. “I have to stop this, I have to stop thinking that you’re on the other side of the line, just waiting… for what? What are you waiting for, Martin? What is so important that you’re willingly working for someone so- so  _ bad? _ I have no idea what Lukas is planning, what you’re doing up there, and I- I hate it. Sometimes I can  _ see  _ you. Up there in that office, doing paperwork, or reading statements, or drinking tea. But there’s a fog, and I can  _ see  _ it creeping closer, covering the Institute. Covering you. One day you’re just going to be… gone.” Jon sighed as a wave of grief and guilt crashed over him. Remembering the years he spent looking down on Martin, calling him foolish and incompetent. The time he spent, paranoid and suspicious, and not appreciating Martin’s attention and care when he had it. Not appreciating his steadfastness, his work ethic, his stubbornness and intelligence and kindness. 

“I’m sorry, Martin,” Jon said, because he didn’t know what else to say. Because he was rushing into the territory of an entity for the tenth time, and he didn’t know if he’d be coming back. Jon didn’t know what Martin would do if he found out about his and Basira’s planned trip to Ny Alesund. Whether he would try and stop them, or wish them luck, or try and come along.  _ Probably nothing,  _ an awful little voice in the back of Jon’s head whispered. _ He probably wouldn’t do anything. He probably doesn’t even care. Not about you. Not anymore. _

“I’m sorry,” Jon repeated, and he hoped that if Martin ever heard this, he would understand what Jon meant. Everything Jon was sorry for, even though he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. 

“I miss you.” 

Jon hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! comments, kudos, and constructive criticisms are always welcome!  
> my tumblr is [@grasslandgirl](https://grasslandgirl.tumblr.com/) if you want to yell about jonmartin, or the s4 finale, or send in prompts, and the next chapter should be up soon!! thanks for reading-


	5. would you leave me, if I told you what I'd become?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t think I needed the influence of a manipulative spider goddess to make me question my choices,” he mumbled, before shaking his head. “I have work to do, Martin,” he said eventually. His voice sounded heavy and tired, even to his own ears. When had that happened? When he got back from Ny-Alesund? When he woke up from his coma? When Prentiss first attacked the Archives? When he got hired at the Institute?
> 
> Did it even matter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter covers the events of episodes 141-152, and takes place pretty directly after basira and everyone finds out about Jon taking statements from people from martin, and after they get annabelle's statement from hilltop road!  
> again, much thanks and love to @meverri on here for beta'ing and being endlessly supportive!!   
> enjoy!!

“Hello Martin.” Jon said coldly. Honestly, he didn’t know why he was still leaving these voicemails. If Martin was listening to them, he would have said something to Jon at this point, wouldn’t he? Instead of leaving passive aggressive tape recordings on his and Basira’s desks. He can still hear the automatic voicemail message that always plays, a vaguely feminine auto-generated voice telling him to leave his message after the beep. 

“Thank you for the intervention,” Jon spat into his phone, “I really appreciate you digging into my business but not even being able to-” Jon bit off the end of his tirade with a groan. 

It had been bad, since Basira and the others found out about his  _ feeding  _ habits, and promptly demanded he quit cold turkey. Bad, difficult, painful- Jon felt weaker than he had since he woke up from his coma. It’d only been a few days. But it was… better? It had been what Jon needed to hear. He  _ needed _ to grab at every bit of humanity he had left, even if it was under duress from the others, even if it meant starving himself.

Jon exhaled sharply. “I wish you would just  _ talk _ to us, Martin,” Jon said after a moment, once his initial rush of anger had faded. He laughed briefly, “And yes, I know that is… ironic, at best, coming from me. But we’re, ah, all tied up in this together, aren’t we? Maybe it’s the Spider’s influence, maybe it’s the Eye, or the Lonely, even. But whatever omnipotent fear god is pulling the strings, we all ended up here. Right?”

Jon sighed, “I don’t know. Annabelle Cane left a statement and it left me… rattled. Uneasy. Is it easier to blame our choices on some higher power or to fall back on the excuse of free will? Is either even real?” Jon groaned, feeling himself falling back into the same thought patterns that had haunted him since reading Annabelle’s statement. “I don’t- I don’t  _ know, _ Martin. I’m so  _ tired  _ of  _ not knowing. _ Is that the Ceaseless Watcher, too? Or is it just…  _ me.” _

Jon drummed his fingers against his desk, papered with statements and supplementals and notes. “I don’t know which is the better option, at this point. If there even  _ is  _ a better option.” Jon ran his finger along the rim of his mug, still mostly full of tea that had gone long cold. “I don’t like all of this spider stuff, the Mother of Puppets, with Annabelle Cane possibly around any corner just… watching. Waiting.” Jon scoffed to himself, “I suppose that’s rather paradoxical of me, given my… profession. Still. I’ve never been fond of spiders, nasty little things.” Jon paused, remembering Martin’s defense of spiders, during his statement about his imprisonment by Prentiss. It felt like lifetimes ago, when everything was so much smaller and simpler, before they knew the depth and size of the monsters they were researching. “Martin, I-” Again, Jon was struck by the sudden urge to apologize for his behavior when they were first starting out, down in the archives. He was awful to Martin, and while Jon could think of plenty of reasons and excuses, he was always left with a gaping feeling of loss. Nostalgia for what could’ve been if he’d… if things had been different. 

_ But really,  _ Jon thought,  _ that’s probably just the Lonely’s influence, filling me with that cold, isolating regret. _

“I’m worried about Melanie.” Jon pivoted, remembering her promising him- promising  _ herself-  _ that she wasn’t going to cooperate with the Eye anymore. His concerns about her therapist. Him  _ feeling _ her fear, feeling her determination through the Eye and the twisted, ironic satisfaction the knowledge gave him.  _ You ever think that maybe this whole ritual business is just an excuse, and that we're all part of some huge, miserable fear machine? _ Melanie’s voice rang in his head, and Jon wasn’t sure what was memory and what was Beholding. Not anymore.

“She said something to me, about how maybe we’re all- all of us, you, me, Basira, Daisy, Elias, every one of us- just pieces in some game or some machine we don’t understand. No matter what we do, it’s just going to keep moving forward, churning out fear in every direction.” Jon swore he saw a spider in his peripheral vision, but he didn’t let himself turn, didn’t let himself  _ see  _ it. “I don’t want to believe that, Martin, I don’t want to believe what Annabelle said about free will… that we’re all just bugs in a web spread between a dozen-odd primordial evils. 

“What’s worse?” Jon asked his silent phone desperately, “That we’re all subject to the whims and machinations of the Entities, or that they don’t do anything, and all of our choices are enough to drive them forward, all on our own. Maybe Annabelle just wanted me to spiral like this, questioning every decision I’ve ever made.” Jon tapped his thumb against the side of his mug, the dull thunk of impact nearly ringing in his silent office. He laughed, quietly; just once.

“I don’t think I needed the influence of a manipulative spider goddess to make me question my choices,” he mumbled, before shaking his head. “I have work to do, Martin,” he said eventually. His voice sounded heavy and tired, even to his own ears. When had that happened? When he got back from Ny-Alesund? When he woke up from his coma? When Prentiss first attacked the Archives? When he got hired at the Institute?

Did it even matter?

“Statements to read,” He continued, “or, I don’t know… consume? I’m sure you’re busy.” Jon paused, adding, “If you ever even listen to this,” as an afterthought. 

“Good luck, Martin. I hope you’re having more success than I am.” Jon hung up, already looking for his next, dry statement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! comments, kudos, and constructive criticisms are always welcome!  
> my tumblr is [@grasslandgirl](https://grasslandgirl.tumblr.com/) if you want to yell about jonmartin, or the s4 finale, or send in prompts, and the next chapter should be up soon!! thanks for reading-


	6. and I'd do anything to make you stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But now, this… what did this even mean? When had Martin changed his inbox message, and more importantly, _why_ had he? Jon couldn’t help feeling it was _for him,_ because of _him,_ but as usual, he had no idea what to do with that knowledge. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter covers episodes 153 and 154, and more specifically, it REPLACES the jon/martin conversation from the end of 154 (you know the one) and this phone message replaces that conversation in this au, but other than that there aren't any big meta changes, as per usual! thanks so much for reading; we're really nearing the end of it now, and thank you all so much for sticking with me through this!! xox

_ “You’ve reached Martin Blackwood’s voicemail, please leave your name and message after the beep and I’ll do my best to get back to you when I can.” _ Martin’s voice came in, tinny and stilted through the speaker in Jon’s phone.  _ “It sometimes takes me a bit,”  _ Martin continued, _ “but I always get around to listening to them eventually; thanks.” _ There was an extended, familiar beep after the message, and then the empty space for the recording.

For the first time since he’d gotten in the habit of leaving messages in Martin’s voicemail box, Jon was speechless. He sat in his office chair, his phone held to his ear as he listened for the silence, as though waiting for Martin to talk again. 

“Martin…” Jon breathed, but didn’t know how to continue. From the first message he’d left for him, Martin’s inbox had always had the same automated robotic voice, telling callers to leave their name and message after the beep. It had never been anything personal, nothing to indicate that it was even Martin’s voicemail in the first place. Jon was used to it. It was a known variable, part of the Schroedinger’s voicemail he’d established for himself months ago. 

But now, this… what did this even mean? When had Martin changed his inbox message, and more importantly,  _ why  _ had he? Jon couldn’t help feeling it was  _ for him, _ because of  _ him, _ but as usual, he had no idea what to do with that knowledge. 

Abruptly, Jon realized he was still being recorded, that he was leaving Martin a message of Jon sitting in silence, mentally reeling from the implications. Quickly, he hung up on the voicemail, not even bothering to say a goodbye. Jon had already all but forgotten what he was going to say in the first place. 

If Martin changed his inbox message… did that mean he listened to the voicemails Jon had left? Did he listen to them all recently, or had he been listening to them every time Jon had left one? Suddenly, Jon had a mental image of Martin, sitting alone at a foggy desk, watching his phone buzz and ring on the desk, Jon’s name blinking on the caller ID, and letting it ring until it went to voicemail. Martin, sitting silently and watching the phone as Jon, somewhere else in the same building, rambled into it, oblivious to the fact that Martin was waiting to listen.

Or maybe Martin had deleted every message he left, unopened and unlistened to, and had just gotten around to setting up his inbox for a completely unrelated reason. 

_ “I always get around to listening to them eventually,”  _ Martin had said in the prerecorded message, and Jon couldn’t shake the feeling that sentiment was for  _ him. _ That it was some secret way for Martin to tell him he was there, that he couldn’t respond, not yet, but that against all odds he was listening to Jon’s messages. Jon just couldn’t tell if the feeling was Beholding or pure unfounded human hope. He wasn’t sure which he wanted it to be. 

Jon squeezed his eyes shut. He was exhausted- had been for what felt like years now- and dropped his head into his hands, propping his elbows up atop his desk. When he finally reopened his eyes, the tape- the one with Gertrude and Eric Delano’s statement on it- was propped up in front of him, almost like it was taunting him. It was an opportunity, a way out.

Without even thinking about it, Jon was already reaching for his phone again, wanting to dial Martin’s number, praying that he would pick up, that he would listen to Jon’s message.

That he would run away with him. 

Jon dialed again.

Every ring echoed in his ears, and when the phone finally went to voicemail, Martin’s voice- tinny and scratchy through the speakers of Jon’s phone, simultaneously so familiar and so foreign- repeated his simple message,  _ “You’ve reached Martin Blackwood’s voicemail, please leave your name and message after the beep and I’ll do my best to get back to you when I can. It sometimes takes me a bit, but I always get around to listening to them eventually; thanks.” _

“Martin,” Jon said simply. “I- I’ve found a way for us to get out of here. To leave the Institute, the Archives, the Eye- all of it. To just- get out of here but I- it’s… rash. Difficult. Dangerous, even and I… I don’t want to do it alone? No, it’s, it’s not even that I don’t want to do it alone, it’s that I don’t want to leave  _ without you. _ I don’t want to leave you here, but I- but  _ we  _ could do it. Together. Martin, if you’re listening, if you’re there, if there’s any part of you that isn’t… isn’t Lonely, I- please. 

“I found another of Gertrude’s old tapes, one that I don’t think the Eye wanted me to listen to and- it was a lot. Statement of Eric Delano, 2008. He was Mary Keay’s husband, and she put him into that skin book of hers and-” Jon cut himself off with a clipped sigh. “It’s not important. What  _ is  _ important is that he used to work here. And he  _ quit. _

“He, um- he blinded himself, which really… it’s a lot simpler than you might think. A lot harder, too. But I think- no. I  _ know  _ that it’s true, that it works, and that’s why the Eye didn’t want me listening to the statement. 

“I’m going to tell the others, soon. I don’t think Daisy or Basira’ll go for it, not really their style, but Melanie… Martin, if she listens to me, if she trusts me- she’ll have a way out. And really, I think that’s all she’s wanted. Martin- we could leave, too. You and I- we could go… anywhere, nearly. I know it’s a lot to ask, I know you’ve got your plans with Peter and I don’t know if it’ll sever your connection to the Lonely, but- maybe it’s worth the risk? For us getting out of here, together.” Jon cleared his throat. He felt tremulous and fragile and terrified, and he knew only part of it was from the hunger. “I know I’m asking a lot, I  _ know _ I am. And,” Jon laughed, sharp and sad and desperately hopeful, “I don’t even know if you’ll listen to this. But it’s worth- worth the risk, the shot, isn’t it?” Jon pursed his lips. Almost absently, he reached out with his mind, found where Martin was in the Institute. Sitting in his office, almost entirely shrouded in the Lonely’s fog. 

“Please, Martin,” Jon said, “think about it.”

Jon hung up.

He laid his head on his desk for a moment, exhausted and hurting and exhilarated and terrified and tentatively hopeful. He let himself rest for a moment, his hand- the one Jude Perry burnt so long ago- still gripping his phone tightly. Then, Jon got up and went to find Melanie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! comments, kudos, and constructive criticisms are always welcome!  
> my tumblr is [@grasslandgirl](https://grasslandgirl.tumblr.com/) if you want to yell about jonmartin, or the s4 finale, or send in prompts, and the next chapter should be up soon!! thanks for reading-


	7. but it's so hard, my love, to say it to you outloud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t have to apologize, Martin,” Jon said, and he felt the weight of Martin’s head lift off his shoulder. His shoulder felt cold and empty, and Jon hated how it reminded him of the Lonely. Hated that he knew now that this was how Martin had felt every day for most of the past year. Jon turned his head saw Martin looking down at his hands, pressed tightly together in his lap, his mouth already opening to argue with Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this happens in post-159, but before 160! everything that happened in the lonely and with Peter and Jonalias happened the same as in canon!!   
> as always, bunches of love and thanks to @meverri on here for editing and being endlessly supportive of my nonsense!! she's currently writing for the tma femslash week so go give some of her stuff a read!! xox

“I’m sorry,” Martin whispered into Jon’s shoulder, so quietly Jon wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear it or not. His heart tightened, in grief, in protectiveness, in frustration. It felt like every other thing out of Martin’s mouth was an apology, and it broke Jon’s heart. 

“You don’t have to apologize, Martin,” Jon said, and he felt the weight of Martin’s head lift off his shoulder. His shoulder felt cold and empty, and Jon hated how it reminded him of the Lonely. Hated that he  _ knew  _ now that this was how Martin had felt every day for most of the past year. Jon turned his head saw Martin looking down at his hands, pressed tightly together in his lap, his mouth already opening to argue with Jon. “I’m serious. You haven’t done anything you need to apologize for. Martin, I’m-  _ I’m  _ sorry. For everything- how I treated you when we first started, how I pushed you away, I didn’t trust you, didn’t listen to you, and then the Unknowing, and your mum, and Elias and I-”

“Jon-”

“I wasn’t there, Martin, and I should’ve been. You were always there for me, it feels like, and I- I wasn’t. I didn’t do the same for you and… I’m sorry.”

“Jon,” Martin said again, softer this time, and when Jon looked up at him again, Martin was smiling. It was small, and tentative, and so very sad, but it was there. And that was something.

“I’m sorry, Martin,” Jon repeated, because there were so many other things he couldn’t say. “I missed you,” he offered, quieter and less sure, and Martin reached out and touched his hand.

They had been touching constantly since Jon had pulled them out of the Lonely: holding hands; Martin leaning on Jon’s shoulder; Jon pressing their arms together as they stood side by side, just to feel the warmth and pressure; Jon touching the small of Martin’s back to let him know he’s still there; Martin placing a hand on the inside of Jon’s elbow to let him know he wasn’t going anywhere. It was like a conversation, a quiet back and forth as they checked in on each other without words. 

But this felt  _ different. _ This was more than just a touch of comfort, of warmth and solidarity and company. This felt like a promise, a question, something open ended and waiting for Jon’s answer. 

Jon placed his other hand on top of Martin’s.

_ It should be weird,  _ some tiny voice in the back of Jon’s head said.  _ Peter was right when he said you barely knew each other. You’ve never been close like this, not physically, much less emotionally. You’re both isolated and distrusting and terrified, and you haven’t had a conversation in months. This should be weird, uncomfortable.  _

But it wasn’t.

“Jon,” Martin said again, and  _ god, _ Jon wanted to hear Martin say his name for the rest of his life. And maybe those feelings should have felt too  _ huge  _ for where they are right now, but they didn't- and that was the most comforting thing of all. That for the first time in a long time, Jon felt  _ settled. _ He was on a stuffy bus filled with strangers and he hadn’t had a statement since ripping one from Peter nearly two days prior, and he and Martin were running for Daisy’s safehouse in Scotland; but Jon felt grounded. Like an anchor had finally weighed him down, and he wasn’t about to be blown away by the world moving past him. 

Martin said his name like… like it meant something else. Jon wasn’t one for poetry, he had never understood why so many people wrote about their loved ones saying their name. Until now. Jon couldn’t put words to it, but there was something in how Martin said his name, a depth to his tone, or a lightness in his voice, maybe. An intention behind the word that gave it so much more meaning than when anyone else had ever said it. Martin said Jon’s name like it was a secret, something shining and precious, just for the two of them.

Jon wanted to memorize it. 

Jon wanted to memorize everything about Martin, as though committing him to memory would keep him from slipping away from Jon again.

“I got your messages,” Martin said sadly. He sounded disheartened and worried, and Jon’s hands tightened around Martin’s on pure instinct. “All of them, Jon, and I listened to all of them and I’m so-” Martin choked off abruptly and pressed his forehead against Jon’s shoulder. “I wanted to answer them, Jon,” he mumbled into Jon’s shoulder, and he could feel the vibrations of Martin’s words echoing through his bones. “You  _ have  _ to know I wanted to answer them. But Peter- I didn’t know what he was planning, and I couldn’t let myself walk away without figuring out his plan, without knowing whether he was right about the Extinction.” Martin lifted up his head slowly and looked up at Jon with sad eyes. “No matter how much I wanted to run away with you,” Martin said gently, and Jon’s heart clenched wonderfully in his chest at Martin’s words. 

“Martin,” Jon said haltingly, everything he said into Martin’s voicemail coming back to him with painful clarity- all of the theories and ramblings and concerns. “I- I knew it was a lot to ask of you when I said it, and-”

“But you said it anyway. You left me message after lovely message, and I just ignored you for seven months,” Martin argued “I  _ am  _ sorry, Jon, even if you don’t want to hear it. I wish… I wish things could’ve been different, you know? I wanted to find you in the archives, to just leave that fucking place, but I…”

“I know, Martin.” And Jon did, but it wasn’t Beholding. It was simple human understanding, and Jon relished it. 

“Thank you for the messages,” Martin said, his cheeks turning gently pink. “They um, I think they grounded me in there, in the Lonely, kept me from drifting too far into the fog-”

“Like an anchor.”

“Yeah,” Martin smiled, and Jon knew he understood what he meant. 

The unspoken words hung in the air around them, a shining promise. Neither of them were ready to say them- not now, not yet- it was enough. As always, the knowledge was enough. 

Martin’s hand squeezed Jon’s. The pressure and warmth was an anchor between them. “You know,” Martin leaned back against Jon, the back of his head pressing into Jon’s shoulder and his soft, curly hair tickling Jon’s neck as he turned to look out the window. “I always wanted to get love letters. I thought they were sentimental, and- and romantic, and when I was a kid I’d imagine someone writing one for me, and leaving it somewhere. Like at my desk at school, or on our doorstep.” Martin paused, and Jon wished he could see Martin’s face; but he was still facing away, staring out the window. “It never happened, of course,” he continued. “Until you. And your voicemails,” Martin’s voice lightened in tone, and Jon swore he could hear him smile. “Your terrible, lovely, horrifying voicemails…”

“I suppose I’ll just have to keep leaving them for you, then.”

Martin hummed in agreement, pleased and soft. 

“Martin,” Jon started hesitantly, “would you write me poetry, if I left you love letters in your voicemail?” It was a simple question on the surface, really, but Jon prayed that Martin would see what Jon really meant-  _ Would you love me, if I promised to love you? Would you stay here with me, despite everything?  _

Martin turned his head to look up at Jon, and he was smiling again, with no trace of the sadness left on his face. “Even if I write like Keats?” He asked. 

“Especially then.”

Martin’s smile grew, “Yeah, Jon, I think I could do that,” he said. And Jon knew he’d been understood, wholly and completely. 

Jon wished he could take a photo of this moment and live in it forever, but he looked out the windshield at the front of the bus and saw the road stretch out before them. Let himself imagine a life like this with Martin, with quiet touches and words of love and the gentle security of living with someone you trust. 

Martin resettled his head against Jon’s shoulder, following Jon’s gaze out in front of them. Martin’s hair smelled like dust and strawberry shampoo. “Stay with me, Jon?” Martin whispered.

“I’m never going to say goodbye to you, Martin,” Jon promised. And he meant it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for the wonderful wonderful comments and kudos on this, I never expected such a response and it really means the world to me!!  
> my tumblr is [@grasslandgirl](https://grasslandgirl.tumblr.com/) if you want to yell about jonmartin, or the s4 finale, or send in prompts; especially now that THIS fic is done, I'm raring and excited for a new JM idea to work on!!   
> xoxoxoxxo!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! comments, kudos, and constructive criticisms are always welcome!  
> my tumblr is @grasslandgirl if you want to yell about jonmartin, or the s4 finale, or send in prompts, and the next chapter should be up soon!! thanks for reading-


End file.
